Spark
by alanalionheart
Summary: How special is New Year's Eve?


It was now the ninth day of the Calhoun heatwave.

It was so hot you could fry an egg on the road. So hot that you sat on the semi-cool wooden floor rather than sticking to couches made of leather. So hot that my kid brother Luke was stretched out on the floor behind the dinner table, where the slate from the fireplace kept his legs and torso cool as he sat up on his elbows playing a Pokémon game on his battered baby-blue DS. Our parents were in the next room, sticking to our leather couch, talking heatedly ― oh, let's be realistic, _arguing_ ― through the finance report before the weather came on, so they could find out how hot it was today. I was betting on at least 40 degrees. Like yesterday. And the day before.

When I was younger ― hell, even last year ― the Christmas holidays were spent indoors, sometimes watching the rain fall outside while the rest of Australia whinged about how hot it was. We never had a White Christmas, or even hail, but the point is it was bloody cold down in Hobart. It was pretty much all I knew how to feel, weather-wise. But then my dad's work shut down, and he heard about a new job thing in Christmas Island where he lived there for three weeks in a month, flew back to Perth for the fourth ― lather, rinse, repeat ― and suddenly without more than a few months' warning we were uprooted to small-town Calhoun, WA, a little beachside town an hour's drive from Perth, the other side of the country from home. Luke and I were torn away from our friends, enemies, teachers, school and ― okay, enough with the over-the-top imagery; truth be told, neither of us cared all that much. It was just a move. Build a bridge and get over it. Grow a pear. Or just suck that thumb of yours, you pussy.

I was sitting on the aforementioned slightly cooler wooden floor, stuffing my cheapie lace-up canvas shoes on my feet. Millie, our overly friendly chocolate Lab, sat beside me, tail wagging happily. The finance report finished and the newsreader said, "Tonight's photograph was sent in by Jessica Goldsmith of Henley East ―"

I stood up and tugged a little on Millie's leash. "You coming?"

"Casey, where are you going?" my dad asked as I walked her out of the lounge room.

I stuck my head back in the door before closing it. "Kosta's."

"Did you ask your brother if he wants anything?"

"Yeah. He said no." Then I closed the door, walked out the front, slammed the front door shut, headed down the street.

Kosta's was the name of a fish and chip shop at the end of our street. For the last couple of weeks, the only people I'd seen, apart from my family, were the Kosta's workers. There was Athena, the fifty-something mother with multiple hairy moles who spoke less English than Hitler muttering in his sleep, Kosta himself, who called me "Darling" and had arm hair past his wrists, and Emily, the friendly nose-studded student who was saving up to move to Melbourne. She was the only non-Greek who worked in the joint, and obviously spoke the best English, but she was usually only there during the lunch rush and I'd probably missed her. If they were even open on New Year's Eve.

It was about seven-thirty in the evening, a perfect time for smells for a Labrador. Millie galloped around, sniffing fences, peeing on trees, barking at other dogs stuck behind fences. I had my headphones in and my iPod stuck in my back pocket, feeling the sweat from my head clinging to the cords and running down.

I'd had it with my parents. After spending so much time with them in two weeks ― and having the rest of January to share with them yet― I was starting to go stir-crazy and say things like "Go and take a long walk off a short pier" instead of "Get fucked" and "talking heatedly" instead of "arguing." Without the phone or Wi-Fi installed, and Stupid Me running out of credit on the second day (when I'd stayed up half the night inboxing my friends, whingeing about how boring my life was going to be now), and having No Money on account of spending it on a pair of high-waisted shorts with silver studs and a Boost Juice on my last trip to a shopping centre with more than a boutique, postie and Woolies… basically I was bored shitless with everyday life.

Luke had it easier than I did, because, being his job to walk Millie, he'd been out and about since day one and made a new friend, the owner of a kelpie named Max (the friend, not the dog) on day two. He and Max had become fast friends. I wished life was still that simple for me.

Millie stopped to wee on a tree, the shade of which was conveniently on the road, covering a parked Corolla the colour of puke, so I had to stand in the still-blistering sun while she emptied her bladder of just enough piss to alert other dogs to her passing, then enough to fill a glass, then a juice bottle, then a swimming pool. The song changed, a new one started. I wondered if I'd get sunstroke, or at the very least, turn burnt red like a lobster wearing canvas sneakers.

Finally she moved on and we made it to Kosta's. Thankfully they were open. I left Millie tied to a stobey pole far enough from the roads that she'd be safe from oncoming traffic, promised her I'd be back soon, and left her under the steely gaze of a sixty-something white-bearded Greek with a bag of scallops. Inside was hotter than outside, due to the giant fish fryer and yiros spit-turner behind the counter, so I unplugged my headphones, grabbed a Cornetto out of the freezer and dumped it on the table quickly, wanting to get out.

"Hey, Casey." Emily appeared, tapped away at the cash register. "Three-seventy."

"Stay cheap," I said miserably, which is what I usually said to her. Cornettos, at my old school, cost four-fifty in the middle of summer. Four-packs from the supermarkets were six bucks.

"There's a party on in the dunes tonight," Emily said casually, closing the drawer with a crash and handing me my change, her long fingernails gently scratching my outstretched palm. "Kicks off around ten. You know where it is?"

"Nope."

She turned to face the window, little ponytail swishing, hand raised to point directions. "Follow that road a hundred metres or so, then take a left down a street called Patricia. It's right at the end of the road."

"What? The beach?"

"Sort of. The dunes are part of the Dayton family land; they keep them weed-free, or try to. Sometimes you still get bunnies and stuff out there. Anyway, New Year's Eve, most people go out there if they want to have fun." She bit her lip. "Sometimes you can see fireworks from bigger towns further up the coast."

"Sounds great." It hadn't meant to sound so sarcastic, but it had ended up that way.

"Hey." Emily went to put a hand on my wrist, couldn't reach past the counter. She leaned forward, her Kosta's cap staying firm on her forehead, Velcro back clasped too tightly. "You don't know anyone in this place. Come and meet everyone."

"What if they don't want to know me?" I asked.

She didn't answer that. Didn't speak for a long time. I was about to turn away when:

"If you don't come out you'll regret it." One breath. No pause. No sarcasm, no begging. Just small-town girl logic.

"I'll think about it," I said, turning away.

Outside the bearded bloke was being licked to death by the world's friendliest Labrador. "You silly goose!" I said to her in a sugary Lillith-from-_Supernatural_ voice, which the guy seemed to think was hilarious. His scallops safely out of reach on the table, he was scratching her short fur, chuckling to himself.

"She's gorgeous. What's her name?" He had a Greek accent. _Score 1 for Casey_.

"Millie. She's a chocolate Lab." And the sky is blue, and water is wet, and I am holding a Cornetto. Stating the obvious was one of my special talents. "She likes you."

He chuckled again, enjoying himself, so I let her attack him with puppy love while I unwrapped my Cornetto, stood in the shade of the shopfront for a few minutes. Then, heartbreakingly, I untied her and she scampered off in the direction of home. In went the headphones, off went the blissfulness I'd gotten watching Millie interact with a stranger.

By the time I'd gotten home I'd decided my cheeks would have to be Pringle-box red with sunburn and sweat patches would be present underneath my arms, down a line on my back, pooling in the back of my shorts and in the gap between my boobs. I let Millie loose on my parents, who were now watching _The Roast_, and stood in front of the air conditioner to cool myself down while I finished off my Cornetto.

"Do we have any plans for tonight?" I asked around the cone, once the sultry tones of Tom Glasson had given way to that pesky Mark Humphries.

"I'm picking Max up after eight," my dad announced. "They're playing _The Goonies _at the drive-in at nine. I thought it was about time he saw it."

"It's just you and me home tonight," my mum added.

"Actually, I've been invited to a party." The lie rolled off my tongue as smoothly as the ice cream rolled on.

"Really? Who invited you?"

"Emily. The chick from Kosta's. She reckons I should meet new people."

"Where is it? When does it finish?"

"Well, sometime after midnight, I'm guessing."

My parents exchanged glances. "I don't know, Casey," my dad said doubtfully. "You don't know anyone, and ―"

"It's in walking distance from our place." I knew that after midnight, walking that far wouldn't be a lot of fun, but I wasn't going to back down now, or ask my parents for a lift home. "And I know Emily."

"That's not a lot of people, is it?"

"Well, I'm about to meet more."

They still looked sceptical. "I really don't like the idea of ―" my dad started.

"I've been trapped in here all holidays!" I burst out, already alarmingly hysterical. "I have another four _weeks _of this! Why can't you just be _nice _to me for once?" And, needing to have the last word, I ran to the end of the hallway to the confines of my bedroom, tossing the Cornetto wrapper in the bin and sitting on by bed.

Ugh. There was a reason I didn't spend a lot of time here. Being the back room, it was far enough away from my parents to prevent them from hearing music at night, but it was also facing exactly the wrong way for it to be anything under than thirty degrees in summer. Basically, if Calhoun was Hell, my room was Satan's room. Which technically made me Satan. Oh, well, mountains and molehills.

I lay down, arms and legs spread, high ponytail hurting my head from where I was lying on it. I wriggled up higher, rested it above my pillow, felt less sore. It was seven-thirty now, and if it kicked off around ten then I would arrive a few minutes later. I didn't care what they said; I was going. And anyway, it wasn't like they'd flat-out said _no_.

I pulled my iPod out of my pocket, looked at what was playing. Had a few rounds of Candy Crush, got past a tricky level. Gave up when I opened the next one. Sighed a sigh and flopped back down.

I'd been staying up on New Year's since I was about nine, but it always came at a price: in earlier years, multiple cans of Coke; in more recent years, coffee. Otherwise I fell asleep too early, something I'd discovered over the years when my mum would stay up and watch _The Rocky Horror Picture Show _or _Can't Stop The Music_, one of which always seemed to be showing after midnight on New Year's. Last year I'd spent most of New Year's Eve at my friend Zoe's house, Facebook-stalking guys we thought were cute (in particular, I was interested in a guy named Brody), before getting ready for a party at someone else's and then rocking up. I stood next to Brody at ten minutes to midnight, prepared to snog him when the countdown finished, but he disappeared at the last minute and pashed Zoe instead. Story of my life.

Zoe wasn't a bad friend _per se_; she and I had known each other for a lot of years and had been part of the same group of five girls in primary school, but for various reasons we were the only ones going to the same high school and became best friends because we didn't know what else to do. By the time I worked out she was a bitch, she'd cemented her position at the school and taken up officially with Brody, which, though initially was partly just to spite me, turned to lust, hardcore sex, and finally, _love_. She'd been sad that I was leaving, and promised me we'd keep in touch, but since I'd run out of credit she hadn't phoned me or anything, which made me wonder if she'd wanted to escape from me, too.

I must have fallen asleep because one minute I was thinking about Zoe and Brody (or "Zody" as they were known on Facebook) and the next the car doors outside my bedroom were slamming and my dad and Luke were off to pick up Max and take him to the drive-in. It completely stumped me that there was still a drive-in up here in Calhoun. They didn't have a proper cinema, just a drive-in. Some movies would be amazing to see at one of those, and if I'd been asked, I might've gone with them. But I had a party to go to now. An hour and a half to get ready.

I decided to straighten my hair, because let's face it, if I did anything else in that time I would've ended up screaming or crying or something. That took long enough, doing my hair, even with all the products I could get my slimy, sweaty hands on, and when I finally finished I ended up sticking it in a topknot anyway. For a moment I started panicking that I had nothing to wear, but then I remembered the studded shorts I'd bought back home. I slid them over my thankfully-shaved legs, put on a white _Lost Boys _t-shirt with the Frog Brothers posing hilariously seriously, pulled on my canvas sneakers again, and then sneaked out to the lounge. "Mum, I'm off."

Despite the heat, my mother was a Tasmanian through and through, and was lying underneath the thin couch blanket, watching _Midsomer Murders_. "Oh. Okay. Have a good time, sweetie."

The walk to the dunes was shorter than I'd anticipated, probably made shorter by my iPod, which I didn't dare leave home without. Cars passed me along the way, full of guys in giant-armpit hole tanks and girls in midriff tops, or young tourist families going to the beach. I wondered briefly if I was a local now, or still considered a tourist, but then a vanful of uni lads with what looked suspiciously like a blow-up doll in the front seat cruised past and wolf-whistled. I considered this on-par with teenage boys who said "Darlin'" and "Love" i.e. cute but also somewhat creepy, and walked faster to avoid this happening again.

Patricia Street ― technically a crescent ― was full of smooth-walled white beach houses that, when seen in daylight, probably made this place feel like a Greek island. Now, in the summer darkness, it was just an ordinary street with expensive-looking houses. The end of the street was blocked off by a house that I assumed belonged to the Daytons; the garage door was open, smells of sausage sizzles and the deep blue sea wafting through. With a look around to make sure I was the only one on the street, I went through.

In the backyard were a couple of forty-something men, lounging in outdoor chairs and nursing beers; a staffy puppy, cute but fat, lay at the feet of one, teeth latched on a half-gnawed clean bone. One noticed me and went, "Party's out back," jerking his thumb to a gate at the back of the fence. "You the last one?"

"Um, I don't know." I walked through the gate without looking back, hoping that the people on the beach would be friendlier.

The gate opened to a stone walkway for about three metres, which gave way to the dunes, cleared of grass and weeds as Emily promised. Light came from the still-setting sun, a small bonfire, and a few cheap floor lanterns scattered around. There was an iPod dock set up on a picnic table with an esky underneath, and a couple of groups of people talking, laughing, kissing, dancing. The crowd wasn't as big as I'd thought it'd be ― only fifty people or so ― but the music was just as terrible, bad mainstream pop and hip-hop. I stood awkwardly on my own for a moment before Emily noticed me and waved me over to her group.

"Hey! You look great!" I said to her, which was true; her blue Kosta's polo was replaced with a white tank covered in silver sequins, and her hair was loose around her shoulders, making her look older.

"Thanks, you too!" She looked at her friends. "Everyone, this is Casey. She's new in town." Then, to me, "Casey, this is Elissa, Caitlin, Lucy…"

I forgot almost all their names immediately, because I knew, right then, that I wouldn't fit in. They were all those beachy surfie girls, or amateur beachy surfie girls making the most of their hometown fashion ― light blue denim, floaty tops, maxi dresses and skirts, their sea-bleached hair, metallic sandals, bikini tops instead of bras. It probably should have occurred to me that swimming was likely, even though it was illegal after dark.

Emily finished her introduction and pointed me in the direction of the esky, then sent me off to acquaint myself. I grabbed a Fanta can and stood on my own, staring dramatically at the sea like a character in a B-grade Australian surfer movie. Sighed a sigh and took a sip.

Every time someone I knew organised a party, I always got excited. But it wasn't until I got there that I realised I should never have come. There would never be good music, and rarely good people. And, in this case, turning up at a party where the only person I knew was a chip shop worker was _beyond _stupid.

But after two weeks with my parents, and another four to go, I was not about to let myself go home early. This was my only chance to meet my Max, my Ron Weasley, my new Zoe. A Zoe who didn't sell me out for an attractive guy, or copy my Maths homework when she was too busy smoking marijuana and having sex with Brody the night before to do it herself. Every time she did something dumb like that I cracked the shits, but then she'd go and buy me a burger or get a guy's number or something and I'd forgive her. Because I had to. Because she was my best friend. And even though the bad times with her were pretty crap, the best times really were the best.

"Hey."

I jerked my head, hand with the Fanta sloshing a little out of the can and on the metallic seal. A boy had materialised beside me, a tallish, dark-haired boy in a _Ren and Stimpy _t-shirt. He noticed I was checking out his t-shirt and shifted slightly, wore it with that casualness that suggested he knew exactly who they were, which meant he probably didn't. The hipster idiot trying too hard to be cool. Admittedly, I'd never seen any _Ren and Stimpy _either, but the t-shirt helpfully had their names printed above their heads and I'd seen Zoe Coombs Marr wearing a similar one on _Dirty Laundry Live_.

"Hi," I said, which was usually the extent of my vocabulary around strangers unless Mille was with me.

"You're Casey, right?"

"No, I'm Quasimodo," I wanted to say, but decided against it at the last minute and settled for, "Yep."

"I'm Jack."

"Hi," I said again.

He read my t-shirt, stared at Corey Feldman's face or my right boob, depending on which way you looked at it. Then he said, "So I hear you're from Hobart."

"Yeah. Calhoun's another planet." There was a pause. "I mean, it's just different. You know?"

"Yeah. I went to Tasmania on holiday when I was younger, to see the chocolate factory."

I didn't know what to say to that, so I just nodded.

We both listened to the music for a while, watching the sea for ages and then finally turning around to face the crowd. After a few minutes I sat down in the sand, and he sat too, crossing his legs.

"So, how come you moved?" he asked after a while.

"My dad changed jobs," I answered.

"And brought you along for the ride?"

"Well, yeah, me and my mum and brother. And our dog." _Shut up! _I chastised myself. _You're such a fuckwit_. _He doesn't care_. "But I'm boring. What about you? You grow up here?"

"Yeah. My parents were born here too. High-school sweethearts."

I smiled. "That's cute."

"I guess. It's weird, though; my mum was kind of young when she had me, so some of my friends…" his voice trailed off.

"MILF?" I guessed.

"Yep."

I almost snorted, restrained myself at the last minute. "At least your parents have chemistry. Mine went to shit when ―" Then I stopped. "Sorry. Rambling."

"No, it's okay."

I shook my head. "It's really not. So tell me, who do I watch out for in Calhoun?"

Jack frowned. "What do you mean?"

"Like, back in Hobart, we had this guy called Alex Foreman, who was a total weirdo. He'd come up to you and ask how to pronounce your last name, what your parents did for a living, what classes you were taking, everything. If you were already talking to someone else he'd butt into your conversation. I was bitching to a friend about Charles Saatchi and for the next few months he stalked me, moaning about how hot Nigella Lawson was."

Jack considered this, probably wondered who Charles Saatchi and Nigella Lawson were, then gave up and thought for a moment to find an answer to my question. "Well, there's Nick Leftman. He sounds a bit like Alex ― you know, stalker, interrupter, general weirdo. But he left this year." He checked his phone. "Almost last year." He slid it away. "What year are you going to be in?"

"Eleventh."

"Then you'll have to watch out for Rhett." He turned to look at the people. "He's the one in the Raiders' t-shirt."

I supressed a snigger. Rhett was what I called a "swaglord", one of those idiots in the short-brimmed cap with the size label still stuck on, wearing tan skinnies with his Raiders' tee and big skate shoes. He probably skated everywhere by car, wrote "Yolo" in his Facebook statuses and chugged Mother like it was water.

"He your general troublemaker and asshat?" I asked.

"He what?" Jack leaned closer. He smelt like sand, soap and deodorant.

"Never mind." I waved a hand. Rhett was probably his best friend… a theory I decided was likely when he saw us staring and, instead of waving, tapped a pretty girl on the shoulder and gestured to us. Her eyes narrowed and she marched over, Rhett following at her heels.

"Jack?" she said. It was more anger than uncertainty, though not direct fury, more subtle. The kind of tone one gets from a partner. "Who is she?"

"Kaila, this is Casey," said Jack. "She's new. I was just talking to her."

_Kaila_. What a stupid name. She was wearing a peach-coloured top and one of those pointless white crotchet jumpers. This, paired with Jack's "I was just talking to her," made me make an instant decision: _bitch_.

Before I could say anything, Rhett added, "Don't take it personally, Kaila. She's not competition. Emily just wanted someone to keep her company."

I looked at the sand, bit my lip, tilted my head back up. Jack looked guilty, but somehow relieved. He stood up, shrugged apologetically.

"Don't worry," said Rhett, "I'll keep her company."

"Come on," Kaila said, grabbing Jack's hand and linking their fingers. They went off into the biggest crowd of people, started dancing. Rhett took his place, sat with his legs arched in front of him. His pants were rolled up at the bottom to show off his shoes.

"So," he said after a moment. "What do you like to do in your spare time?"

"Shoot up heroin and dismember small animals," flew out of my mouth before I could stop it.

Rhett didn't seem to understand sarcasm, or maybe he thought the appropriate thing to do here was look mildly surprised but otherwise okay. "Oh. Cool."

"Yeah. The heroin thing I picked up from my boyfriend, but the animals is a family thing. My grandpa's in the taxidermy business, and when my dad was a kid he started taking them apart. The next generation didn't even wait to kill them. I've been teaching my brother."

Now Rhett looked more worried. "Ah. Okay."

I started laughing. "For God's sake, I'm joking. I'm just a normal girl, okay?"

He looked at my face to see if I was telling the truth, seemed to accept it, then studied my t-shirt. A long pause as he tried to get his mind working. Then:

"You like Peter Pan?"

I could tell this was going to be a long evening.

Somewhere closer to midnight, Rhett left me and went to talk to another girl sitting by herself. Within seconds the two of them started passionately making out and groping at each other. For a brief moment I wondered if that was what he'd wanted to be doing with me, but then I looked down at myself. It was still boiling hot, and even though I'd taken off my shoes and socks and had my feet stretched out, the water lapping at my toes, I was sweating like a pig. It had been a mistake to wear white, because the sweat patches under my arms were visible. I almost flopped back on the sand behind me, but didn't at the last minute. The last thing I needed was sand in my hair.

I considered going home early, decided against it because my mum would question it, as would my dad, if he and Luke were home yet. Almost regretted my decision when they started playing Justin Bieber. Stuck my iPod headphones in. Played more Candy Crush.

A hand touched my shoulder and I jumped, but it was only Emily. "Hey," she greeted me, sitting down beside me, nursing a Coke. "You enjoying yourself?"

I pulled out my headphones. "Sure."

She rolled her eyes. "Go and talk to people. Then you'll enjoy yourself."

"Rhett told me you sent Jack to sit with me."

Emily looked away. "I just suggested you might want some company," she said innocently.

"I don't need to be babysat."

"I didn't say _that_."

I leaned forward between my legs, smear-wiped sand with my wrist to make it flat, then leaned back to grab my empty can of Fanta. Rolled it back and forth.

"I wasn't trying to babysit you," Emily said. "I just thought you should meet people you're going to be with next year." She checked her watch, which was plastic and bright blue. "Which will become this year in about an hour."

"Let's hope the new year's cooler," I mumbled.

Emily rose her can. "I'll drink to that."

I looked around to see my surroundings for the millionth time. The Justin Bieber soundtrack had given way to bad techno. Someone had set up an iPad with the countdown timer switched on, ready for midnight right down to the second. Rhett and the girl were lying down in the sand, his hand up her tank top.

"The thing is, Casey, if you keep sitting here like a loner, you're not going to meet anyone. And how is that going to help you here?"

I shrugged lamely. There didn't seem much point in arguing further.

Emily knew a lost cause when she saw one. She drained her Coke, said, "I'm gonna grab another," and disappeared. It didn't surprise me that she didn't come back.

I was just about to stick my headphones back in when a voice went, "Yo, Casey!" I jumped a mile, turned around. It was Jack, back again, this time holding a packet of glowsticks. He had two yellow ones on each wrist and a green one made from two conjoined looped around his neck.

"Pick one," he said. "These always look great on New Year's."

"Thanks." I selected a clearish one and snapped it. Purple. "Where'd these come from?"

"Inside."

"You live here?"

"Yeah." He frowned. "You know you're supposed to shake it, right?"

"Huh? Oh, yeah. You distracted me." I bent it a bit more, started shaking it like I was making a cocktail. He smirked at me, waited until it was satisfyingly bright, then handed me a joiner and went off to give someone else some glowsticks.

I almost face-palmed myself, then realised there was probably someone watching me. Before only my iPod had given light to where I was. Now my glowstick would show me off. Now that the sun had set, vision was definitely impaired. I could still see everyone else was having a great time, though. Some things were harder to miss.

I slipped my bracelet onto my left arm and went back to playing Candy Crush, hoping to be left alone, but after a few minutes someone else sat down beside me, someone smelling like grape bubblegum. Kaila. "Hey, Casey," she said sweetly, which was as dangerous as the chemicals in her deodorant. She had two orange glowsticks looped through her earrings and another two, pink, hanging from her shorts' belt loops. "Whatcha doin'?"

"Candy Crush," I answered.

"Why? You're at a _party_."

A shrug. The song playing had a line that went, "_Open up the door, Mr. Frankenstein_." I wondered if that was a metaphor for anything.

"I don't know anyone here."

"You know Emily. You know me and Rhett." I couldn't miss the venom in her voice as she added, "You know Jack."

"Yeah, so?"

"Sooo…" She leaned closer. That grape shit was even on her breath. What did she do, bathe in it? Wash her clothes in it? Shampoo her hair with it? Brush her teeth with it? "_How _do you know him?"

"I don't."

"I saw you two talking earlier."

"Kaila, if you're accusing me of trying to steal your boyfriend ―"

"Oh, I'm totally not!" she announced, but those big green eyes spoke volumes otherwise. Still, I played along.

"Well, if you _were_," I said in the same tone as someone telling the doctor "My _friend _suffers from erectile dysfunction", "now you know I'm _not_. Okay? I'm just the new girl. Not a threat."

This relaxed Kaila completely, even though she tried to cover it up. "Oh. Okay." She stood up. "Are you okay on your own? I really like this song."

"Sure thing," I said. "But can I make a suggestion?"

She whirled around impatiently, hair flying. "What?"

"Don't keep Jack on such a short leash," I advised. "Then you might not think he's cheating on every girl he talks to."

Her eyes narrowed slightly, but then her face was back to normal. "Thanks for the tip," she said icily, then went out to the rest of the group.

I smiled slightly, then sighed. Jack was totally whipped, no matter what I said. I always hated seeing guys have to suffer through that, but this wasn't my problem. Kaila didn't want me anywhere near Jack, and I was cool with that. I didn't even like him, anyway.

I kept playing Candy Crush, but I got bored with that soon enough. I stood up and stretched, my butt sore from sitting on sand. My butt had a cavern in the grains, a cavern I knew I wasn't about to return to. Yes, Friend: it was time for another Fanta.

I walked over to the esky with my empty tin, added it to the pile underneath the Apple New Year catalogue table. There were an awful lot of Fanta cans in that pile. _No_, I thought, running for the esky, _baby, no. I want my Fanta_.

An image of Veruca Salt from _Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory_ singing, "I want it NOW!" popped into my head. I replaced her face with Kaila's and kept looking. I found a lot of Coke, a lot of lemonade, a few creaming sodas and a fruit punch thingy that, although delicious-sounding, was not what I was looking for.

"You okay?" a voice asked. It was Jack again, putting the glowstick packet on the table so other people could come back for more.

"Yeah," I said with a smile.

He held another unbroken purple glowstick out to me. "You want another one?"

"Nah. I'm okay. Thank you, though."

"Okay." He left it on the table. "So, um, you enjoying yourself?"

"Yeah. Totally." I smiled again. "It's a great party."

"Thanks."

There was a pause. Then he said, "You wanna dance or something?"

"Oh, no thank you." I said it so fast it was probably offensive. "I mean, not that there's anything ― I mean, I don't think Kaila would like it very much."

Jack frowned. "Casey, she's my girlfriend, not my jailor."

"I'm sorry," I said, grabbing the fruit punch thing and closing the esky, "maybe later."

He looked like he wanted to say something else but stopped himself. And just in time. Kaila came over, draped her arms around his neck. "Hey, baby," she murmured. "I asked Matt about the playlist, and he said he'd play our song later―"

"Can we talk?" he interrupted her.

She pulled him closer and kissed him hard on the mouth. I watched their cheeks, noticed her tongue slide into his mouth, hands pulling tight against his back. I didn't want to watch them make out, so I concentrated on opening the can. By the time it was cracked they'd come up for air.

"Sure thing, baby," she answered his question. She took his hand, started leading him closer to the water, but then stopped, noticing the glowsticks. "Huh. I don't have a purple one." She grabbed ― I shit you not ― the same one Jack had offered me, and then led him off into the dark.

My mind went back to the day after Zoe had had her first kiss. "Casey, my friend," she'd said, "young, naïve Casey, before you go sticking your tongue down anyone's throat, let me tell you something." She sat down cross-legged in front of me on my bed. "Whatever you do, don't kiss anyone you don't like at least a _little _bit. Even if they're a dud kisser, there's gonna be a little bit of you that wants him to improve and for you two to stay together forever. We can't help it; it's what makes us _girls_."

"You just snogged Alex Foreman," I said, totally confused.

"And that's exactly _why _you have to kiss someone you like," she announced with a shudder. "He's actually a total _dynamo_ at tonguing. Who would have thought?" She shook her head. "I had to think about Robert Pattinson when I was doing it. Otherwise I'd end up less popular than Alex himself."

The fact that she had a crush on Robert Pattinson should give you an idea of how long ago this was, but, ridiculously, it all came back to me in the blink of an eye.

I dozed off standing up and shook myself out of my daydreams ― or, um, half-an-hour-til-midnight-and-still-awake dreams. I'd conveniently zoned out while staring at Rhett and his girl rolling around in the sand. I turned and watched the dancers, the bonfire buddies, Jack and Kaila talking heatedly. Arguing.

"What's going on with the lovebirds?" It was Emily, back again.

"I don't know."

"Trouble in paradise?"

"Looks like."

She punched me gently on the shoulder. "Good on you for moving, by the way. I was beginning to think you'd become a hermit."

"I am a hermit. You wouldn't believe how many people don't understand my t-shirt."

Emily leaned down, studied it the Frog brothers' glares and weapons. "Is it a thing on teen angst?"

"Nope. Close, though."

"Okay, then."

"Emily!" someone shouted.

"Coming!" she called back. Then, to me: "Happy New Year."

"Happy New Year," I said back.

She walked back to her friends, giggling at their dance moves, and I stood by the iPod dock. The iPad said 29.49 minutes to go until the new year rolled around. I thought of my parents at home, my dad on the floor snoring his head off, Luke lying on the slate in the dining room to keep cool, the ABC providing my mum with _Would I Lie To You? _if she was still awake. I thought of my friends back in Hobart, Zoe frantically Facebooking everyone messages (it was in the new year over there already, due to the time difference), Brody watching horror movies with his brother, the others Instagraming selfies from parties or camping out to watch the fireworks. Maybe it was raining over there, maybe it wasn't, but either way it definitely wasn't past forty degrees. I'd be surprised if it passed twenty.

I stood by the table for ages, saying hello to the people that came up to refresh their drinks or change the song, fielded questions from the curious people ("Where are you from?" was common, although so was "Wanna come see the dune rabbits up there with me?" which I figured translated to "Wanna fuck?"). The iPad ticked down beside me.

At 19.32, Kaila threw up her hands and stormed away from Jack, who had his hands on top of his head like he was stressing out about something. _I hope he just dumped her_, a little voice in my head went.

_Hang on, _what?! _You want them to be over? Why?_

_Well, I don't know, little voice, you're the one inside my head._

"Oh, go and take a long walk off a short pier," I muttered to myself, then realised there was a guy getting a new can from the esky. He gave me a confused look, which turned to a slightly creeped-out look, and then he retreated as fast as he could without being rude.

The countdown ticked on. At 17.43, Jack came over and got another drink. "Everything okay?" I asked him.

He shook his head. "Nah. Kaila's being a bitch."

"I'm sorry," I said.

He concentrated on opening his Coke. "Yeah, well, what can you do?"

"How long have you been together?"

"God, I don't know. She expects me to remember, but…" A shrug. "Sorry, I'm probably boring you, aren't I?"

"No, it's okay. You're not rambling." I smiled.

He didn't get it. "Talk later?"

"Yeah, sure."

He walked away, went to talk to one of his other friends. I stood by the iPad, watching the numbers go down. It was strangely mesmerising.

At 14.58, Kaila wandered over. Her hair was mildly ruffled, like she'd swished it around a few too many times in her argument with Jack or maybe done the Gay Gordon. "Hey," she said, then yawned, which was exactly what I'd been doing all evening. "Can I ask you something? In confidence?"

"Sure." I wondered what movie she'd heard that said in.

"If… if you _did _have a thing for Jack… would you… chase him?"

I frowned. "Not while you were seeing him. I'm not the other woman. I'm the new girl. Besides, it's New Year's Eve. He's _your _boyfriend, _you_'re the one who's supposed to kiss him at midnight."

Kaila sighed. "I… I think he wants to break up with me."

Despite her coldness, I could see that what she wanted was to talk to someone who knew nothing about them. "Really?" I asked, as tenderly as I could. "What makes you think that?"

"I don't know…" Her voice was very small. "Sometimes… I just _feel _something's different, you know?"

"Would you be upset if you two broke up?"

"Of course," she said. "I mean, at first. But everyone breaks up in the end."

I thought of my parents, fighting daily through the finance report. I thought of Jack's parents, still together after high school. I wondered if Kaila knew they were high-school sweethearts.

"Maybe," I said, because what else can you say?

She looked at me dead-on, suddenly reminding me very much of one of the dune bunnies, though I wasn't sure what part of her was particularly rabbit-like; she wasn't nibbling on a carrot or growing long ears or anything. "What's your new year's wish?" she asked me suddenly.

"My resolution?"

"No, your _wish_," she said, like I was stupid. "You get one, you know."

I'd never heard this before, but I went along with it. "World peace."

"I wish we never had to break up," she said softly. "I wish the first person we fell in love with was the last."

There was a very long pause between us. I looked at Rhett and his girl, who were _still _making out. I looked at the iPad, which ticked down to 13.57. I looked at Emily and her glittering silver-and-white tank. I looked anywhere but at Kaila.

"Do you love Jack?" I asked softly.

"Oh, God no!" she cried, and her reaction was so Australian I almost laughed. "No, we've only been going out for a couple of months. I just… I _want _something perfect, you know?"

"And Jack's not it?"

"No." She sighed. "Maybe we should just break up."

"It's an awful night to do it, Kaila," I pointed out.

"But tomorrow is a new day, a new year. Tomorrow is the best day for something new. For both of us." Then she shook her head. "I don't know why I'm telling you all this."

"You needed to tell someone," I said. "And you don't know me. I'm just the new girl."

There was another long pause. Then she said, "Yeeeeaaaah."

A third long pause. 12.35. "Actually, can I change my wish?" I asked her.

"Sure." She looked up at me, hair swishing out of the way. "What's your new wish?"

I looked at Jack for a fraction of a moment, then turned back to Kaila. I stared into her wide green eyes for five seconds, ten, fifteen. It was like the trick with the rabbit in Stephen King's _On Writing_. We were having a telepathic moment, I was sure of it. When the two of you think about the same thing at the same time without speaking a word. The look between laughing fits with a best friend. The shared understanding of knowledge between you and a teacher. The glance down at someone's lips before you kiss them. We thought together without knowing what each other was saying.

Then I said, "I can't tell you my wish, otherwise it won't come true."

3.12.

I was back on my spot in the sand, sitting next to my shoes, my toes wet with seawater. I didn't want to put my shoes on yet. I didn't want to go home. I was just starting to enjoy myself here.

Kaila was talking to one of her friends. Jack was talking to one of his. Emily was still standing with her group of friends. My iPod was on 20% after too much Candy Crush and I was saving it for the trip home.

There was an undeniable feeling in the air, more than salt and sand and seawater: hope. Hope that the new year was going to be better than the old one, that this year things would change. This year, her grades would improve. This year, he would ask her out. This year, she would lose her virginity. This year he would keep his room tidy.

This year, I was not living in Hobart, Tasmania. I was in Calhoun, Western Australia.

This year, my best friend's name was not Zoe. I wasn't sure who it would be yet, but hey, spoilers.

This year, I was going to get a job. Maybe Emily's old one at Kosta's, when she moved to Melbourne to study.

This year, I was going to be a new ―

"Casey!" someone called.

I stood up, turned around. Jack was waving me over. I left my shoes behind, near the shore but out of reach from the water. The iPad said 1.29.

I walked over to his group, which had a gap for me to stand between Jack and another guy. "What's your new year's resolution?" Jack asked me.

I thought about it for a moment. "To love life here, in Calhoun," I said. "Hobart can go and take a long walk off a short pier."

To my delight, that euphemism was actually understood by a few of the people in the group, though it totally flew over Jack's head and left exhaust fumes hanging in the air. "Right," he said.

"What's yours?" I asked him.

"To work out next year's resolution before this time next year."

That got him a bigger round of laughs than my comment.

"Say your prayers, loosaaahs!" someone from another group catcalled. "We're all going to DIE!"

"Suck my dick, Devondale!" retorted Rhett, who had finally torn himself away from the other girl.

I looked around at everyone else. They were all grinning, all cheerful, all casting glances at the iPad to check the time and pretending not to. The hope was escalating. Everyone felt it.

Rhett's resolution: to have sex in a classroom at least once during the year.

Emily's resolution: to get enough money together from working at Kosta's before uni started so she wouldn't have to ask her parents. Also to drink diet Coke instead of full-strength.

Kaila's resolution: to find her Mr. Right before she died.

59 seconds and counting.

The iPod was being attacked by people wanting to find the perfect song to start the year with. Finally they backed away. I disagreed with their song choice. I mean, of course I did.

32 seconds.

"See you next year!" some guy shouted.

There were calls of "Fuck yeah!" but also "Screw you!" and "I'll be seeing your mum next year!" which, in fairness, he should have seen coming.

15 seconds.

The air was still hot, but somehow breezy. Probably the sea was bringing in a breeze from wherever breezes come from on the WA coast.

"TEN!" someone started.

"NINE!" we all joined in, some people fist-pumping like this was an AC/DC concert instead of a yearly occurrence. "EIGHT! SEVEN!"

A hand, warm and dry, slid into mine. I jumped, turned, smiled. Jack.

"SIX! FIVE!"

I wondered if anyone would notice us. I wondered if anyone would care.

"FOUR!"

It was that part in _Outro _and _Sirin _and _Empty _when the beat dropped and the drums pounded and everything went in slow motion. The part of the song that got stuck in your head on a loop and replayed every time you remembered this moment. The part that fuelled you with hope and love and faith and lust and oxytocin just thinking about it.

"THREE! TWO!"

Jack turned to face me, timing the moment. We stopped shouting with the others.

"ONE!"

We kissed.

"HAPPY NEW YEAR!"

Maybe for you there's a chance that your new year is going to be better than the last one. Maybe you know that things are going to improve. Maybe you're getting married, having a baby, signing divorce papers, going to university. Maybe you don't know the future, don't know that you're getting a raise or getting asked out or winning the first Oz Lotto draw in the year. Or maybe it's all going to turn to shit; the new year's meal's already gone off in the fridge, your mortgage repayment is screwed, your business is going tits up, your husband is plotting your murder. But the truth is, most of us don't know. And all we have is a little spark of hope.

And sometimes a kiss from the best-looking person at a party.

Jack was a good kisser, but even so I tilted away slightly, testing him. He pulled me back and I opened my mouth. His lips tasted like Coke and seasalt. My hands were tangled in his hair, his low on my waist. The Frog Brothers pointed their weapons at Ren and Stimpy. There was sweat on his hairline and sand on his fingers. And his lips… God, those _lips_…

I broke away seconds, minutes, hours later, and wouldn't you know it, Kaila was snogging someone else. Rhett was sitting by the iPad, watching the 00.00.00 flash. His girl had gone home early.

New Year's Eve isn't a day people get together. It's a day people have fun. Kaila and the other guy probably wouldn't get together, me and Jack wouldn't. We weren't compatible enough to be a match. I didn't even like him that much. But there was just enough spark for me to want to pull him back to me.

So I did.

"How are you getting home?" he asked me later.

"Walking. I live nearby."

"Walking alone? After midnight?" He shook his head. "You're new in town, and you're mine for the night. I'll walk you home."

So that was how I left the party with Jack Dayton.

Walking home, we didn't hold hands, and I left my headphones out. I told him the party was great. He thanked me. I asked him if he watched _Ren and Stimpy_. He asked me if I'd seen _The Lost Boys_. I decided Jack was, away from his bonehead mates and semi-psychotic paranoid ex-girlfriend, an okay kind of guy.

It wasn't until we were out the front of my house that I realised I hadn't brought my key. "I'm gonna have to knock on the door," I told him. "You'll have to disappear, so my parents don't get suspicious." I raised my hand to knock.

"Wait! Don't do it yet." He pulled me out of sight, off the porch. Kissed me again, a teensy bit more than lust and hope. Saying so long, and thanks for all the pashes.

And then, wouldn't you know it, that moment ― 0.23am, or thereabouts, just enough time for everyone to get home safely from their New Year's celebrations ― was when the heavens opened. Mother Nature had snapped and given in to our needs. Like someone had switched on a shower and we were standing underneath it. Summer storms were my favourite kind, dry lightning crackling across the sky, rain water warm rather than icy cold. Jack and I stayed glued together until we couldn't anymore, breaking apart and bursting out laughing. His hair was black and his styled fringe dripping, Ren and Stimpy sticking to his chest. Edgar and Alan turned soggy and ― my t-shirt being white ― transparent. Jack noticed this and laughed harder.

I pulled him out of the rain, sheltered by the porch.

"You want a lift home?" I shouted over the rain, knowing doing so would mean a lecture from my parents about Leaving Parties With Strange Boys.

"Nah!" he yelled back. "I can't get any wetter!"

This statement was somehow more hilarious than the rain itself; we pissed ourselves. I sobered up when I caught him checking out the Frog brothers and crossed my arms over my chest, stared at the swimming pool that had suddenly appeared in our front yard. He followed my gaze, stood beside me. There was silence for about two minutes, just the sound of the pouring rain giving enough soundtrack, but then he said:

"Where do we stand?"

I thought about it. He didn't like me _like that_ ― I knew that, because I'd met guys like Jack before ― but he was doing a very convincing job of pretending otherwise; he wanted me to think this was the teen-movie ending. Well, two could play that game. "I don't know," I said.

And then we kissed again, dripping wet, soaking wet, saturated in summer rain. I wondered if he was thinking about sex, or at the very least, me. Then we pulled away again, him looking slightly dazed, though he might have just been tired from being mobile so late.

"You have to go!" I complained flirtily, pushing him away.

"Chucking me off your property?" he smirked.

"Before my dad does."

He backed away, disappeared into the stream of heavy rain so thick it looked white and swallowed him up. Through the noise I heard him say, "See you around, Casey."

"Good night, Jack!" I called out. Then, quieter, more to myself, "Good night."

I turned around and knocked on the door, grinning. Jack would probably regret walking home in the rain within minutes, but I'd already be inside in my hot bedroom, or maybe taking a shower. I guess I did kind of like him, but at the same time I wasn't dying to be his. I had to think about it some more. But whatever I chose, whatever _we _chose, I knew this summer would change things ― give me hope, new friends, and maybe, just maybe ignite that little spark we shared.


End file.
